The Fairy Patrol
by VengefulMothSlayer
Summary: [ON PERMANENT HIATUS] DCI Alfed F. Jones is a young hotshot in the Cogs district. But when he's transferred to Force 3, or "The Fairy Patrol", he'll face his toughest cases yet, not to mention his co-workers and his own messed-up past.
1. Chapter 1

**The Fairy Patrol**

**Ch1 **

_6:00 AM_

Beep beep beep beep beep beep-

A hand came out of no-where and swatted desperately at the alarm clock.

"Goddamnit," the voice from beneath the depths of covers was heavily laced with sleep. The hand scrabbled over the bedside cabinet a few moments more before grabbing hold of a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. A face surfaced and the man's vision focused, now filtered by his lenses.

"Why?" he begged, rolling slowly out of bed as though through honey. The dingy apartment remained silent.

As he stumbled towards the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee, he caught sight of himself in the cracked mirror above the sink.

His messy hair partially obscured his face and his eyes were still heavy with sleep.

**Name: Alfred F. Jones**

**Age: 24**

**Gender: Male**

**Desc.: (American) Blue Eyes, 6"2, Blonde hair, Tan skin**

**DCI in the Cogs district of New Pyong City**

Sighing, he turned on the kettle and stared out of the window in his kitchen at the smog-laced streets.

_It's a whole new day,_ he said to himself, though you could hardly tell. The smoke was so thick and the buildings so tall that the sunrise was almost invisible. _A new chance._

He forced a smile. It wouldn't do to get too down. He was a hero, after all!

But it was kinda hard.

_9:00_

A long-haired Frenchman paced slowly down the sidewalk, breathing in the crisp, smokey air of the New Pyong morning. Apparently his team was getting a new detective today.

He could only hope that this one turned out better than the last one.

He entered the building casually, indifferent to the dingy, typical office building style it was decorated in. He of course made sure to waggle his (well-manicured) eyebrows at the pretty brunette receptionist. Passing her as she giggled quietly, he got into the elevator. He pressed the number for his floor and the reflection in the mirrored wall greeted him affectionately.

**Name: Francis Bonnefoy**

**Age: 24**

**Gender: Male**

**Desc.: (French) Blue Eyes, 6", Blond hair, Tan skin**

**Policeman (Sergeant) in the Cogs district of New Pyong City**

As he got to the 8th floor the doors chimed and opened. He continued down to the corridor until he came to a door labelled in block lettering:

_**FORCE 3**_

Francis rolled his eyes at the ostentatious sign. No matter how many times he went to the office he never got used to it.

"Force 3" indeed.

He opened the door, and entered the workplace of the best homicide task force currently employed by the New Pyong Police Department.

_9:05_

Alfred rushed down the corridor. He was late. 5 minutes late. Goddamn, why did this have to happen today of all days? He was trying to make a good impression, for Christ's sake. He was going so fast he almost passed the door labelled "Force 3".

_Cool,_ he thought on one level. _Catchy_.

On all the other levels, it was going more along the lines of: _oh god oh shit oh fuck why you idiot!_

He threw open the door and yelled "Sorry I'm late!" panting for breath and doubled over, he at first missed the four freezing stares.

However, as soon as he had straightened up, fixing on his usual (brilliant, not obnoxious) smile, he caught them.

"Well…" he shifted nervously. "This is awkward."

"Indeed," a Japanese man said, eyes appraising his mildly dishevelled apparel with apparent lack of interest.

**Name: Kiku Honda**

**Age: 26**

**Gender: Male**

**Desc.: (Japanese) Brown eyes, 5"4, Black hair, Tan skin**

**Criminal profiler in the Cogs district of New Pyong City**

"Oh, sorry! I'm DCI Jones, Alfred F. Jones! I'm the hero!"

A man standing next to the water cooler stepped forward, breaking the stern silence.

"Yeah, we know who you _are_," he said in heavily accented English, rolling his eyes. "But what are you doing here?"

**Name: Gilbert Beilschmidt**

**Age: 21**

**Gender: Male **

**Desc: (German/Prussian) Red eyes, 6"2, Platinum blond hair, Pale skin**

**Policeman in the Cogs District of New Pyong City **

"W-well, I was transferred here…" Alfred said, bright grin faltering slightly as the Albino began to laugh.

What was going on here exactly? _Maybe they'd heard…_ he thought internally. But no, that couldn't have happened.

"You were transferred here," The German said, trying to control his guffaws. "What- exactly- did you _do_?"

"Well… What d'you mean?" Alfred asked, feeling more and more trapped. Maybe they _had_ heard…

"I mean… That there's only two reasons you could be here, in Force 3. You've either done something _really_ bad… or you're not telling us something. I'm guessing the really bad option."

"Not telling you what?"

And at this, Gilbert, Francis, Kiku and the other guy stared at him incredulously before all bursting into incredulous laughter.

Simultaneously.

Really creepily.

(Except that Kiku was laughing real quiet and holding his hand up in front of his mouth, so the only way you could tell was by the way his body was quivering).

Alfred looked at the rest of them. "What?"

The tan guy who hadn't spoken yet walked over and slung an arm around Alfred's shoulder, wiping away tears of laughter.

"Amigo," he smiled, flashing brilliantly white teeth. "I thought I was oblivious. Obviously I was wrong."

**Name: Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo**

**Age: 22**

**Gender: Male **

**Desc: (Spanish) Green eyes, 5"6, Brown hair, tanned skin**

**Policeman in the Cogs District of New Pyong City **

"What d'you mean, man? I'm not oblivious! I'm awesome!"

"No, that would be me!" Gilbert interrupted, shaking his head. "I will decide whether or not you are awesome. Kesese~" he laughed real creepy again.

"Dude, that's getting really creepy. Just tell me what you're laughing about already."

Francis shook his head and sat down at his desk, putting his legs up. "Mon ami, it is like this. You are aware, of course, that it is not merely our pride talking when we say that we are the best team in all of New Pyong?"

Alfred nodded. It was common knowledge among the forces that Force 3 was the most efficient team currently operating.

"Ever wonder why we're Force 3, not Force 1 or 2?"

Alfred thought about it. Nope. Never considered it before.

Francis smiled slightly and indicated the room at large. "It is because they are embarrassed of us, mon cher. We are too good to be kicked off, but our, shall we say, _lifestyle_ means they don't want us to get too much recognition."

"What kind of lifestyle?" Alfred asked, curiosity well and truly piqued.

Frnacis smiled slightly. "We are all gay."

"Oh."

"That is why they call us The Fairy Patrol."

"Ah."

_9:30_

"Who the bloody hell are you?"

Alfred froze, trying to make as little noise as possible. Surely there was no way the guy could have heard him. He'd been really quiet…

"Stop that nonsense. I can see you in the bloody mirror. Now tell me who you are," the man said, spinning round.

**Name: Arthur Kirkland**

**Age: 23**

**Gender: Male **

**Desc: (British) Green eyes, 5"7, Blond hair, pale skin**

**Forensic Pathologist (working exclusively for Force 3) in the Cogs District of New Pyong City **

"I… I'm Alfred F. Jones," he said nervously. "DCI Jones."

The Brit regarded him for a moment and then stuck out a hand. "Arthur Kirkland. Forensic pathologist."

The stood there for a few moments, simply regarding each other, and broke apart.

Alfred sighed slightly, looking around the preparation room. The smell of antiseptic assailed his senses and the setup- two benches surrounded by metal lockers- reminded him of a change room back in his home America.

"You know, I've always thought that corpses were way creepy."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "Right."

They lapsed into silence.

**A/N wat u think?**

**(New Pyong is a non-existent city)**

**Yeah, I know that apart from a tad bit of swearing, this doesn't really justify a T. But it's a crime investigation story. There may be murder. There may be rape. Depends on what I feel like at the time. **

**Plus, al the characters, while seeming rather normalish, are all kinda fucked in some way or another. **


	2. Chapter 2

_**(Rec. Listening: Kill EVERYBODY by Skrillex or Save the World by Swedish House Mafia) Kill EVERYBODY should be Pink theme for Seven Little Killers. **_

**Yeah, there is actually an autopsy scene later on. Always wanted to write one. Just tell me if I get it wrong, guys. I got all my info off HowStuffWorks. **

**The Fairy Patrol**

**Ch2 **

_Yao wanted to throw up. _

_His arms, tied behind him, had long ago gone numb and the bindings on his feet were cutting into his flesh. _

_He wanted to cry out, to scream, but he couldn't make a sound. The bile and material in his mouth blocked out each and every noise he made. _

_The tears that carved tracks into the smokey grime on his face seemed to burn against the cold air. _

_He was so alone. _

_But there was someone here. _

_Someone watching. _

_Waiting. _

_He could feel their eyes burning craters in his skull. He wanted to run. _

_He knew they were there. _

_He knew. _

_But he couldn't run. Couldn't run. _

_COULDN'T MOVE. _

_Arthur's POV_

_9:00 am_

The quiet pressed in like a blanket.

It was funny, being alone. I like it, because of the quiet. And for the same reason, I don't.

You see, with people comes the noise.

It covers up the emptiness. You can't tell what you feel when there are so many emotions pressing in on you from all sides, and that makes you feel like you might be happy.

But for the same reason, being with people can make me feel like throwing up. Everywhere I turn, there's somebody else smiling at me, asking questions, trying to pull my thoughts like bile out of my throat. It's degrading. It's depressing. It's sickening.

I can't really pretend to enjoy my job. But there are benefits.

"HEY! Artie!"

And Alfred F. Jones isn't one of them.

I turned slightly, trying to hide my face from him. I knew it was futile, of course. He'd seen me.

But it was a knee-jerk reaction to meeting one of Them.

"Artie! How ya doin'?" he asked, hauling his fat ass and huge ego into the previously peaceful elevator.

"I am well, thank you," I answered curtly.

_Them?_ You ask. _Who are They?_

That's simple.

You see, They are the loud ones. The ones that force their characters into your face, blinding your eyes and pounding into your ears. They feel just as empty as we do. It's just that they don't recognise it.

And then they turn around and ask us quiet ones, _"Why so serious?"_ You know, like they are the only ones to _ever_ quote the Joker.

Gits.

And then there's another class of Them, the ones that secretly think you're a dweeb, that you're a downer, but they don't have the good sense to _leave well enough alone_, and instead expect you to appreciate being treated like some community project. You know the type. _"Oh, I'm so bloody awesome! I'll share some of my awesomeness around! Would you like some awesomeness, you poor socially awkward sod?"_

Gah.

They make good drinking buddies, the first class, but as I'm trying to control that habit, that's not really a factor anymore.

I don't really care which type Jones is. He's American.

"So, Artie, whatcha doin' today?" he asked, leaning casually against the side of the elevator. I caught a flicker of something in his eyes, but then it was gone.

"Don't call me Artie. My name is Arthur," I bit out, trying to cave in on myself.

"Iggy it is! What have you got on today?" He asked, clapping hand on my shoulder.

_Iggy?_ I thought. _I've heard it all now_.

"I've got lots on today," I said, allowing a thick caustic edge to seep into my tone. "I'll be cutting up dead bodies, cutting up dead bodies, and OH! Also a side of, let me think, _cutting up dead bodies_."

He leaned backwards. I caught another flicker of that _something_ in his wide, childlike eyes, but again, it was gone before I could tell what it was.

"Seriously dude, you don't have to be that way."

"What did you _think_ I had on today? I work under you! I am a forensic pathologist! It's not a very varied job! Sometimes I get a hacked- off limb before I get the rest of the body, and then I have to identify what exactly cut it off! I mean Jesus, whoop-de-doo!"

He looked at me with slitted eyes and his voice, when he spoke, was smooth and low.

"I'm just trying to be friendly. But, you know, I guess people like _you_ wouldn't be able to recognise that."

The elevator doors slid open with a faint _ding_, completely ruining the tense atmosphere. His head snapped up and he left, and all I could think as I followed him in was _"Well, that escalated quickly."_

_9:30_

"Okay, guys! Team meeting and all that shit. Everybody's here, right? Well, I want all members of the Fairy Patrol to come over here!"

Goddamnit. Alfred F. Jones' voice split the Force 3 office, drawing attention to where he was standing in front of a large whiteboard.

_Where the bloody hell did he find a whiteboard, anyway?_

I met Francis' gaze from across the room, and he waggled his eyebrows. Gilbert and Antonio had already gotten up, stretching and cracking muscles and ligaments which had gone to sleep.

"So, guys, I introduced myself yesterday, yeah? Everybody knows who I am."

None of us nodded. Because that would have made us look like sheep, or small children. Instead, Kiku spoke.

"Yes, Jones-san. I believe so."

"Right, cool," he said, wiping his palms on his dark slacks. Unironed, I noticed.

"So we've just been assigned a new case. Not sure what the protocol y'all are used to is, so I just thought I'd write it up on the board like I used to. Get ya'll up to speed."

His eyes darted nervously between our inscrutable faces.

He took out a marker pen and pointed at a blown-up aerial map of Cogs.

"So, here's how it goes. The body of Yao Wang, aged 29, was found here," he circled a small alleyway just off Canterbury st.

"That was at 9 yesterday. They're sending the body down to the lab so ya can have your fun, Iggy."

I looked at him, not even bothering to raise an eyebrow. But his attention was already off me as he circled a small apartment building a few streets away, on Rathbone st. "He lives here, on the 5th floor. Room 523. Alone, apparently. Works at the Moonshine Bar, just a little ways over here," he said, circling another building on Rathbone.

"Looks like he's been dead about 12 hours. Naked, bound and gagged when they found him and," he shuddered, "His eyes had been torn out."

"Right, so Iggy, you know the drill. Tell me everything there is to know about this guy. And guys," he said, looking at each of us in turn. "This ripping-his-eyes-out thing is pretty distinctive, so I want to know if there've been any recent murders of the sort."

"Also, I'm thinking that maybe he could have been killed by a jealous girlfriend or fiancée, or perhaps ex. Maybe he had a wandering eye and she got sick of it? I dunno," he shrugged. "But try and find out if he's had any partners recently."

He capped the pen after writing this all out as bullet points. Messy handwriting, all caps.

"So, guys. How do you usually do this?"

Francis looked at me.

"_You lead, mate."_

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Okay," he said, turning to Jones. "Normally the boss and I will go check out the crime scene and Gilbert will take Antonio to check out the residence. Kiku will stay behind and do a little more research. And Arthur," he said, raising a single, well-defined eyebrow, "Will stay behind, and have his _fun_."

If Alfred realised he was being rebuked, tested even, he didn't show it. He just shrugged and asked simply, "When will you be right to go?"

"Should be a little while," Francis said. "I've got work to do."

I turned my head away so that he wouldn't see the tiny half-smile that graced my lips.

_10:00_

"Can you tell us anything about Mr. Wang?" Gilbert asked, leaning closer to the pretty receptionist. She giggled.

"Well, I didn't know him well. But he worked for a strip club."

"Of course he did," Gilbert said, waggling his eyebrows. Of course, someone like that _could_ pull it off. And still look dead sexy.

"The Moonshine Bar, right?" Antonio asked curiously.

"Yeah," she said. "I'd better get you an appointment with Mr Raymond though, he's the landlord," she said. She got carefully out of her chair and, with a wink to Gilbert, sashayed to the door behind the counter (with much hip-swaying and ado).

Antonio sighed. "Amigo, I am not liking this day," he said, his usual million-watt smile somewhat dimmed.

"Yeah," Gilbert sighed. "I feel sorry for this poor Yao guy."

_10:00_

The back alley smelled, Francis noted. It stank not just of a decomposing body but of rubbish and animal carcasses, the kind of smell that only comes with years of build-up and neglect. Francis' designer cologne wasn't doing much to combat the putrid stench.

Alfred stuck his hands in his pockets. His eyes were everywhere, and his usually bright expression was no-where to be seen, replaced by an unusually serious demeanour. Even after only a day of knowing this man, Francis could tell he wasn't usually like this.

"This place is lonely," was all he said.

_10:00_

Kiku leaned further into the screen.

Apparently Mr. Yao was an immigrant from China. Beijing to be exact. He was here on a permanent visa as he already had family living in the city- a Mr. Im Yong Soo.

Im lived somewhere outside Cogs, an entirely different district of New Pyong.

Kiku sat back. _How strange_, he thought. What with the size of the city, commute between districts was frustrating- so much so it was sometimes rather like travelling between cities. Because of this, family members tended to stay in one district- if they wanted to see one another, that is.

_Yao Wang_, he thought.

Unbidden, he found himself lost in memories- memories of his own time in Beijing.

_20 years ago, Beijing_

_The small boy huddled in the garbage heap. Shivers and sobs racked his tiny, thin form, but he made no sound. _

_It was winter. _

_Soon, the sun would rise. Soon, he would have to move again. But for now, all he could do was sit there and dream of never moving again. _

_He wanted so much- to eat, to sleep. But most of all, he wanted to feel safe again. To feel his mother's arms around him again. To see his father's tiny smile, hidden so deep in his eyes one could hardly see it. _

_He wanted to be home, in Tokyo. _

_The sounds of the city permeated the foetid air and he buried himself even further in the pile of trash. He was so cold. _

"_Hey," Came a soft voice. The small child turned his tiny, filthy face up towards the source of noise. He didn't understand a word of Chinese but he did understand the message that was carried in the stranger's tone on silent wings- I'm here, don't cry, it's warm inside. _

"_Are you OK?" _

_Slowly, a face entered the small, flickering glow of the streetlights. It was that of a young boy, with large, brown, almond-shaped eyes, his lips curved up in a friendly smile as he slowly extended a hand to the shivering boy in the trash. _

"_Come with me."_

_Yao._

Kiku shook his head, resting his head in his hands. Surely it couldn't be the same person. Surely not.

_That was 20 years ago,_ he thought softly.

_**WARNING: THIS IS THE AUTOPSY SCENE**_

_12:00_

I slid the knife through Yao's skin, grimacing slightly.

No matter how many times I did this, I never got used to that feeling- the feeling of the cold metal sliding through the dead flesh. The smell didn't help.

Yao's face was tipped back against the smooth metal surface of the autopsy table. The dark, congealed pits where his eyes had once been stared off into the distance.

All the blood had been washed off.

I finished the deep, Y-shaped incision and peeled the skin and muscle back, revealing the cage his bones made around his once-beating heart. The flesh made a soft _slap_ noise as I gently lay it over the holes in the corpse's face.

Two sickening _cracks_ and that very same cage, the one that had once curved protectively around the flesh and organs like a mother around her children, was snapped; I lifted it away, exposing the tender organs beneath.

That pressure I felt against the blade of my scalpel, the snick of the sharp metal through organs and veins; the soft, almost silent _psh psh_ of the meat against the tables. I weighed the structures that supported his life and drained the blood from his body with mechanical movements.

How vulnerable the human body was, how soft and fragile and weak. I refused the urge to shiver at the darkness of my own thoughts.

The torso was done.

I folded his flesh back into place, positioned the body block under his neck like a pillow. The soft rubber cradled his green-tinged neck.

I made a smooth incision from ear to ear across his forehead and peeled the skin and hair forward to cover his face again.

A switch of a button; the silence of the autopsy room was shattered as I turned on the electric saw and began to cut the skull in two.

I finished, switching off the saw, removing the skull cap; the soft tissue came softly with it, detaching with a sound like a suction cup. The brain glistened wetly in the fluorescent lights.

I severed the connection from the brain to the spinal cord and lifted out the brain, noting the twin stab wounds that graced the front. As I left to weigh and measure the brain, Yao's corpse was left alone, an island in a sea of silence, stripped bare to the world that had finally finished him off.

His body had an open and empty chest cavity with butterflied chest flaps, the top of the skull was missing, and flaps of skin and bone that cradled his brain had been pulled over his face and neck.

The pure indignity of death terrified me, even after all this time.

_**AUTOPSY END**_

_6:30 pm_

I sat in the preparation room, my knees tucked under my chin.

_Arthur_, she whispered, he bright blue eyes locked onto mine. _Go,_ she whispered, again. _Save yourself._

I couldn't help myself. I was terrified. I ran.

It's all in your head, it's not real.

She'd not real.

I tried desperately not to scream, feeling the exhale of her last breath in my face. Again. Again. Again.

Bile crawled, burning, up my throat, and my eyes boiled with unshed tears. But I would not cry. I would not vomit.

I sat there, shivering in the silence, all over again.

**A/N**

**So, what do you think?**

**Yeah, little bit of Artie's character development in there. Next one will be Alfred's POV! Yay! **

**Oh Jesus, why did I just **_**write**_** that scene? Oh yeah, because the fic is horror/angst and the last chapter was almost humorous… Also I'm a closet masochist…**

**Still, that website was one of the most disgusting things I have ever read. **

**Review aru~ **


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